


viva la revolución

by berrybliss



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi has been seared-in-the-flames-of-withering-injustice-TM, Akashi is Simoun, Bring Me to Life, El Filibusterismo AU, I make these weird AUs so no one goes through what I go through, Kuroko in dresses again damn it, Kuroko is kinda Maria Clara?, M/M, One-Shot, Rizal Day 2017, and we pretend noli canon never happened, based on Philippine Literature, except he's not in a convent, i'm sorry dr. jose rizal, lol, omega!kuroko, self-indulgent trash, sobbing about AUs that will never exist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 00:22:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13201719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berrybliss/pseuds/berrybliss
Summary: Revolution is needed to break themselves free of society's restraints.He pays no mind to seeing the diamond ring adorning Kuroko’s finger.[El Filibusterismo AU]





	viva la revolución

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: so this is just something I wrote in my free time when I realized I could release it on Rizal Day (December 30) like wow I’m sorry rizal I really am pls don’t haunt me  
> Loosely based on Simoun and Maria Clara from El Filibusterismo (The Reign of Greed). Heads up to those Pilipino Grade 10 students! ;)  
> Enjoy akkr fam!

Akashi engages in conversation with those who require his indulgence, and prove to be useful assets – an extra trick up the sleeve, so to say. There are people who tip their hats in his direction, while some regard him as outlandish and proceed to stay away from him as much as they are allowed to, as much as they are capable of doing.

Whether or not the host has chosen to forget him still remains to be known. The estate of the Lord Kuroko still reeks with opulence despite the times. Arguably, it is exactly because of the times that there is such a lavish display of elegance, an illusory spectacle to divert one’s attention from the less favorable aspects of recent happenings.

Akashi, though, he is reminded instead. It separates him from most of the crowd.

The reason for his overstaying is in the other side of the room. He is waiting for the opportune moment. _Before long now._ He holds up his glass of Muscato, seeing through the glass certain nobles flocking around a certain treasured flower with their questions. A rush of heat surges through his veins. Their kisses had been sweet, chaste, inconsequential, and they had left Akashi greedy for more.

The passage of time does not make Akashi Seijuro forget the taste of freedom.

Their eyes meet for the fraction of a second.

Kuroko laughs after having heard something, but eventually, he gathers his skirts and excuses himself from his company.

Outside the ballroom, the corridors are empty, not even a servant in sight. They are fully preoccupied with the catering and the preparation of food. People simply do not go to parties and leave with empty stomachs. It is reflective of the host’s affluence and generosity.

The smile on Kuroko’s face vanishes once he is no longer within the periphery of the guests.

Akashi hasn’t eaten much. His stomach bears no appetite, with what is being celebrated. If anything, this brings a question to mind.

“Will they not be searching for you?”

The shake of a head. “We have had our share of waiting, Simon-san.” Kuroko whispers, placing emphasis on Akashi’s alias and retracting his hand before he can clasp Akashi’s wrist. It is too overt, an easily misinterpreted gesture. The hand falls to his side.

“We shall take this to my room. No one shall disturb us there.”

 The orchestral accompaniment fades into the background, as they recede into the upper floor by going up a stairwell. Kuroko turns the doorknob and pushes the door open, welcoming Akashi like an expected visitor, even though this is certainly not what he expected at all. Far from it. Emotion fills in his eyes as he locks the door. They remove all pretentions cast by etiquette in the face of others. Behind closed doors, they bare themselves to each other, kissing each other passionately. Akashi cups Kuroko’s chin, his other hand resting on the latter’s exposed shoulder.

He pays no mind to seeing the diamond ring adorning Kuroko’s finger. How can he, when Temptation invites him to Her doorstep so openly?

Kuroko’s hands loop around his waist. His cool breath breezes through Akashi’s ear. “I thought you were dead. Everyone did. I didn’t dare hope otherwise.”

Their lips meet again. Kuroko is needy under his touch, the sounds elicited from him anything but the ideal pure icon he is painted out to be by the most conservative of families.  They can sing only praises of him, of how he is a nightingale that is meant to be caged, a child born into the fairies’ court of flowers. His beauty is immortalized by the people around him, but in truth, Akashi knows him best for what he truly is – _visceral._ Akashi can only be honored to be coveted by one who is coveted, by one who is idealized as an unreachable star.

That is what Kuroko should be to him now, but the truth of it is that Kuroko’s heart is his. It has always been, and shall remain so for as long as he draws breath.

It is also the truth of it that he cannot stay for long. He says as much to Kuroko.

He removes his coat. “We won’t get many chances like this again, I’m afraid.”

Because this meeting should never have happened in the first place. It has been many years, and yet, Kuroko remembers the target on Akashi’s back. _Heretic. Subversive._ Akashi Masaomi had been first, his enemies pouncing at the chance of knocking him off the chessboard.

Akashi Seijuro, he is believed to be dead. The Church had been persistent enough to ensure this. Kuroko’s father - he had turned away from Akashi the moment the Church told him to.

They believe Akashi Seijuro to be dead, and perhaps they are right, because Akashi emerges from the grave a changed man with an entirely new facade. His nails rake against Akashi’s back as Akashi takes him under the skirts.  

He stops him. Akashi’s lips have traces of the taste of wine.

“We can’t.” Akashi has never been this bold. Understanding flashes in his eyes, till Kuroko sees anger, ice cold in its form. He smiles sadly, apologetic as he tries to make Akashi forget. It is the only thing he can do for Akashi – Akashi who has seen too much, who has been wronged so much. He misses it, however, being held in Akashi’s arms and being branded by him, feeling like he is less than perfect, but more than enough, because Akashi wants him for who he is, and not what he seems to be.

They are concealed by a veil, and if one is to enter, one can only see the silhouettes behind it - shadows in a white background – and the long fingers curled around the wooden bedpost. The wind enters through the veranda, giving a glimpse of a palace housing a long forgotten point in time, before closing its doors once more, hiding that which is within.

Everyone has forgotten Akashi Seijuro. As Simon, he is a clean slate.

Everyone except Kuroko Tetsuya, that is.

Akashi, he has braved death once. He will do it again, if it means going back to Kuroko’s side.

It is Kuroko who gives him dreams of a better world.    

Kuroko’s voice echoes in Akashi’s mind. He realizes, with Kuroko entangled in his embrace, that he is the captor.

Society’s entrapments are chains, but he is the cage.

He retreats from Kuroko, gathering his bearings and turning away, retrieving his coat from where he’d left it.

“You’re right, Tetsuya. We simply cannot.”

Kuroko’s eyes widen. He wraps his arms around himself, pushing up the sleeves of his _baro’t saya_ to cover his exposed shoulders, his eyes fixed on Akashi, whose face betrays no emotion. Only detachment.

“They will be looking for you. It is time for me to be on my way.”

With a stiff bow, Akashi makes his way for the door. Before he can open it, Kuroko clasps his wrist.

“You’ll always have me.”                                                                                           

Akashi nods. “Till we meet again.” He kisses Kuroko’s hand.

Kuroko opens the door for him, watching as he walks away. Once Akashi is gone, he closes the door again, retrieving a shawl from his cabinet and wrapping it around himself.

His room is his retreat. He walks to the veranda, feeling the night breeze while holding onto the balustrade.

Somewhere from a distant memory, Akashi’s voice whispers sweet nothings to him, but they too, are lost in the wind. The town is quieter than it used to be when they were children. There is a drift between those who have the luxury and those who simply do not. Children have less energy to run around – they save it to feed their families.

There had been a time Akashi went overseas to sharpen his mind, to join other _ilustrados_ in their pursuit of knowledge. It took a great many years before Akashi’s return. Once Kuroko had heard the news that Masaomi was sent to prison, he knew that the path ahead would not be an easy one, and he took it upon himself to tell Akashi of what happened to his father. He knew, deep down, that _that_ promise might never come to light, and that the fates were simply against them.

_“Let us get married someday, Akashi-kun.”_

He does not have a wish as strong as Akashi’s. It might even be said that life has been gentle to him, certainly more than it has been with most, and that is why he is content with his life. His every move is watched, and while he feels more alone than ever, he cannot deny that anyone else would want to trade places with him. Sometimes, he loathes himself for being so greedy. And yet, how can one forget a gentle disposition turned rough by the cruel hands of fate? Who can look past the fact that justice has turned the other cheek too many a time?

If he were to forget Akashi, it would be easier, and yet he cannot. He’d known what Akashi was trying to do, but to forget Akashi would be to forget who he really is.

To let go of Akashi would be to let go of himself.

A carriage driven by horses stops in front of the house. Red hair is visible in the distance, the vibrant color of revolution.

Kuroko smiles.

* * *

Akashi prepares to get on the carriage. The full moon is in view, her watchful gaze giving light to the night.

Something makes him look back, however, a familiar scent that pervades his senses. His gloved hand reaches for the shawl that flies in his direction.

When he looks up at the balcony on the second floor, the palace he can only enter in dreams, there is no one there. There is only the wind, incapable of wiping away the scent that lingers with what has been entrusted to him.

As they drive off into the night, Akashi remembers the object of his affections. Lips that betray childhood promises, eyes that ask questions, hands that remind him of gentle caresses. He loses himself in it.

Lips that will be another’s, eyes that will deny him even of a gaze (because even that alone conveys too much), hands that will be held through soirees as _he_ will be given to several partners to dance with. Kise Ryouta is the embodiment of conformism, a match that has always been safe. He might even be a good match for Kuroko, because the mixed-blooded blond looks at Kuroko with nothing but earnest adoration, and seems to want to shower him with nothing but the finest of things. A conformist through and through, the epitome of an ideal alpha groom… and conformists are untouchable, because they are always in the favorable side of those in power.

Akashi, though, he has ideas. He does not forget his resolve. He does not forget what has made him come so far.

_Viva la revolución._

He is no puppet for them to play with as they please. Neither is Kuroko, whose eyes still bear the fire of yesterday’s remains.

Once all goes down to dust, victory will be his, and so will that promised hand. 

* * *

If the colour of crimson is needed,

To dye the dawn peeking through your horizons,

I will smile as I spill my blood to the earth,

So that your rays of glory may shine ever brighter, ever stronger.

_-Mi Ultimo Adios (Ang Aking Huling Paalam), Dr. Jose Rizal_

* * *

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:  
> The original stanza of the poem goes like this in the Filipino translation:  
> Kung ang kulay pula’y kinakailangan  
> Upang itina mo sa iyong liwayway  
> Dugô ko’y ibubò pangiti kong alay  
> Nang iyang sinag mo ay lalong dumingal.  
>   
> The English translation was phrased very differently, so I took the liberty of tweaking it a bit (erm, a lot, the horizons thingy isn’t even in the original). //slapped I know it sucks I’m sorry dr. rizal I swear this is only for the fic I am only a trashy teen who wanted el fili au aaaaaa  
> *Red is the colour of the flag of the Katipunan (KKK), a faction that fought for Philippine freedom in the time of the Spanish Colonial Reign.  
> Thank you for reading ~_~


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